


Glitter, Glitter Everywhere

by Arej



Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [29]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fun, M/M, Other, all in good fun, although crowley doesn't always expect it aimed at him, both sides of the great glitter debate represented, they're not really male but it's m/m since i used male pronouns throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arej/pseuds/Arej
Summary: Day 29 for the advent calendar of prompts.Aziraphale has a soft spot for glitter-covered Crowley, and no qualms about making it happen.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561027
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	Glitter, Glitter Everywhere

When Crowley brushes against a low-hanging garland strung between the posts on either side of the entrance to the back room, he sets loose a veritable cloud of glitter. It rains down around him like a shower of stars, gold and silver catching the light, winking as it falls.

He sheds glitter as he walks, brushing it off his shoulders and arms, scowling at the trail he leaves. “For Satan’s sake, angel, _why_?”

“I like how it sparkles,” Aziraphale responds without looking up from his book. He doesn’t need to look to know what’s happened, anyway. “I - oh.”

He attempts, poorly, to hide his smile behind the book, then sets it aside when Crowley levels him with a look. Rising, he gestures. “Come here, dear.”

Crowley comes over, grousing, and then they both are swiping at the glitter. “Why not just miracle it so it doesn’t _shed_?”

“Glitter is miracle-proof,” Aziraphale counters.

“It’s _what_?”

“Miracle-proof. Didn’t you know? I thought you got a commendation for it.”

“I didn’t _invent_ it,” Crowley complains. “I just took credit for it! An infernal thing if I’ve ever seen one - gets bloody everywhere and never comes out - but I wasn’t _awake_ when it was invented.”

“I know.” Aziraphale soothes. He brushes glitter from Crowley’s shoulder; a cascade of it falls, but there’s still a whole smear of it left behind. He bites back a smile. “I just thought you might look into it, after, understand what you’d gotten credit for.”

“Now why would I - wait a moment. You know?”

Oh, dear. “Er.” Aziraphale manages, but Crowley is squinting at him, glittering gold eyes gone narrow in suspicion.

“You knew it was miracle-proof.” Crowley’s voice has gone low, dangerous, but there’s the barest hint of a smile pretending to be a scowl tugging at his lips. “You - you knew it was miracle-proof, and that I was asleep when it -”

Realization clicks into place; Aziraphale can practically hear it. He can certainly _see_ it, blooming there on Crowley’s face.

“You did this.”

“Did I?” Aziraphale asks, eyes fixed pointedly on Crowley’s shoulder.

“ _You’re_ responsible,” the demon crows, too pleased with his discovery to pretend at annoyance anymore. “You are! You invented this - this menace!”

When he flings his arms out, glitter flies every which way. He is still, somehow, coated in it - the curious nature of glitter means he might never be properly free of it, not after setting off a cascade like _that_.

“I didn’t invent it, but I did inspire it. And it’s hardly a menace,” Aziraphale tuts, swiping ineffectually at a shimmering spot on Crowley’s back. The demon pivots in place to skewer him with a look.

“It gets everywhere,” he repeats, though the threatening tone in his voice is rather ruined by the grin on his lips. “People _hate_ it.”

“Not everyone.”

“Oh, no, greeting card companies _love_ it, love inflicting it on -”

“The queer community seems to approve,” Aziraphale replies primly. Then, “In fact, I seem to remember _you_ prancing in here last June, absolutely covered in -”

“That’s different,” Crowley interrupts, waving a hand and scattering glitter on the floor. “That’s - that’s intentional, that’s purposeful. This -” he waves the hand again, this time at the garland in specific, “is _not_.”

“Isn’t it?” Aziraphale replies, and Crowley freezes mid-motion, mouth slightly agape. “I know precisely how tall you are, dear. And how high you wear your hair.”

Crowley’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth. He looks from Aziraphale to the garland - just low enough that he’d brushed the very bottom of it with the very tips of his gelled hair. The garland that, now that he looks, is suspiciously coated in glitter - so much that bits are still drifting loose, a full three minutes after he disturbed it.

The garland that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“You bastard,” he breathes. Aziraphale smiles at him, brows lifted slightly and lips quirked just so at the edges. It is a smile he thinks of as ‘sly’, but that Crowley has - repeatedly - described as ‘smug’.

“You _bastard_ ,” Crowley repeats, delighted. “You did this on purpose.”

“You look ever so fetching in glitter,” Aziraphale replies. “I didn’t want to wait until next June to see it again. It looks lovely in your hair.”

When Crowley lifts a hand to the hair in question, Aziraphale seizes it. “No - it’s lovely. You’re lovely. It looks like starlight caught there.”

He pretends not to see the swallow, though it tells him the comment hit its mark perfectly.

“I’m going to be shedding glitter in your bookshop for ages, angel, if you don’t let me brush it out,” Crowley warns. There is a glint to his eye that Aziraphale knows very well. “It’ll get everywhere.”

There is a matching glint in Aziraphale’s eye as he pulls Crowley down into a kiss, murmurs against his grinning mouth.

“Darling, I certainly hope so.”


End file.
